Fractured
by Kenji Sasaki
Summary: Johto's fortunes have taken a turn for the worse. Civil war has been raging for two years, and Clair is getting sick of it. She decides to take a stand, but instead she recieves a revelation that sends her world flying out of orbit.
1. Dragon's Lament

Well, I'm back with a story I plan to finish this time. No big long A/N here, boys and girls, just good old fanfiction, right the way y'all like it, yeah? But oh, one quick note. Contains hints of ClairxLance, though it's unlikely to develop further because I'm fifteen and sensible enough to admit I can't write romance for crap. :D Enjoy.

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* * *

Foreword**

_In an alternate universe . . ._

_The Johto region has been plunged into chaos. Instead of the harmonic, relaxed region you know, it is cracked and splintered. Each of the major cities – Cianwood, Olivine, Ecruteak, Violet, Cherrygrove, Blackthorn and Goldenrod – has become a self-governing state, most of which are led by an individual that was once known as a 'Gym Leader'. Peace is an unfamiliar term, and citizens live with constant fear and paranoia. Wars and skirmishes break out with alarming regularity between all the city-states, save one. Blackthorn, a relatively small community in the far north-eastern corner of Johto, struggles to remain neutral, while its Gym Leader-turned-President races against time to get to the bottom of the whole affair._

_The event known as the Split happened only around two years previously, yet it is already an event set firmly in history. Few people know its cause, and fewer still will tell you when asked. Could the cause be as simple as human greed and envy, or are there more powerful forces at play? One woman finds out, and the revelation is hardly to her taste . . ._

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* * *

Chapter 1: Dragon's Lament**

Sighing, Clair Dragonchild rested her head wearily on her desk. Breathing in, she inhaled its familiar, woody scent, overlaid with decades of coffee stains and varnish. She closed her eyes and let herself drift for a minute. She had done this so many times, she thought absently. This cluttered little desk in this cluttered little study was like a refuge for her in these times.

_How did it get like this?_

What sort of madness was this? What could possibly have happened to spark all the madness that was threatening to engulf her city? The Split had been so long ago that she had almost forgotten what had caused it.

_My city . . ._

As many times as she heard it said, she still couldn't get used to the idea of Blackthorn being _her_ city. She didn't want to own a city, if she were to be perfectly honest with herself. Being a Gym Leader had been all well and good, but she didn't want this. _Nobody should want this._ The only problem was that there was nobody else she deemed worthy to run Blackthorn. She was stuck with the job.

A single angry tear forced its way out from between her tightly-shut eyelids, crawling across her face and, succumbing to gravity, falling to the surface of the desk. Irately, she brushed it away and sat straight upright in a single abrupt motion. Clenching her fists, she berated herself silently. This wasn't like her, not in the slightest. Was she going soft? Or was she just not up to the job?

"The pressure of running a city is a heavy burden for even the most able," said a soft voice from behind her. "Don't be so down." Smiling a little, Clair brushed away more tears before they could form.

"Thank you, Pryce," she murmured. "You always seem to know what I'm thinking." Turning in her chair, Blackthorn's President observed her most trusted advisor – and oldest friend. Pryce, an aging, quiet man with receding white hair framing a bald crown, had once been the Gym Leader in Mahogany. Once the Split occurred, however, Pryce had wisely decided to ally Mahogany with Blackthorn. Clair had accepted happily – the two cities had always had a good relationship, after all, and Pryce was far more experienced than she was.

"Perhaps. That's what happens when you know someone for a long time." Clair cracked a weak smile.

"How come I can never read you, then?" she asked. "I've known you just as long as you've known me."

"Naturally. However, Mahogany's residents have long been known for our secrecy and – I hesitate to say – deception. When I was the Gym Leader, I spent many years perfecting the art of remaining cold and impassionate. Old habits die hard, as they say." Clair sighed.

"Why will you not take the leadership of Blackthorn, Pryce?" she asked, not for the first time, or the second, or probably even the hundredth. "You're so much more suited to this sort of thing than I am!"

"What sort of thing might that be?" Although Pryce's aged face displayed no emotion, as usual, Clair had the strangest feeling that he was laughing at her on the inside.

"Politics," she snorted. "I never was any good at negotiation, or diplomacy, or whatever else I'm supposed to be good at for this job. I'm only President because I was the Blackthorn Gym Leader, and I'd give it up in a second – to the right person, of course."

"And you believe I would do a better job of that than you?" Pryce shuffled his way around beside her and perched himself on the edge of her desk, among all the paperwork, leaning heavily on his cane.

"Yes, you would!" Clair exclaimed, waving a hand agitatedly. "You're a brilliant negotiator and a level-headed mediator. You always seem to know what to say in any given situation . . . Just having you in a room calms everybody down. You're just what Blackthorn needs if we want to stay _neutral_!" She placed heavy emphasis on the last word. "Please, Pryce, I'm asking you to do this. Not just for me, but for Blackthorn!" The old man was silent. After a short interval, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, tipping his head back toward the ceiling.

"Listen, Clair," he said seriously, his voice level. "I may be all of that, or I may not, but whether I have those skills or not is irrelevant. That is not what Blackthorn needs. You are looking at this the wrong way, my friend. In these times of unrest and civil war, a city does not need a leader who can keep the peace. A city needs a leader who can actually _lead_. A leader who is _strong_. And you, Clair . . . you are the strongest person I know."

Clair frowned and rested her forehead in her hands as she tried to puzzle this out. "I don't follow you, Pryce. Are you suggesting I lead Blackthorn to war? That I take up arms against the rest of Johto, just like all the other city-states?"

"No, not in the slightest. I have always admired the conviction with which you have backed up your policy of neutrality, and I see no reason for you to abandon that now. All I am saying is that Blackthorn will doubtless require a steadfast and resolute leader like yourself, especially if things carry on as they are."

"You think they will?" Clair asked, discouraged. If things kept spiralling out of control like they had been recently, Johto would descend into total anarchy. "Where will that leave us?"

"The same place everyone else will be," said Pryce grimly. "Chaos."

"I don't want that," Clair said quietly. "Not for Blackthorn. The rest of Johto can go to hell for all I care, but I'm not letting anything happen to my city!"

Pryce nodded in satisfaction. "There you are, you see? You've just proved my point again. Blackthorn needs _you_, because you are the one person who will refuse to give in. Being stubborn isn't necessarily a bad thing." Clair said nothing, staring firmly at a coffee stain on her desk. Pryce nodded a second time, and withdrew from the study without a further word. The door shut behind him with a loud click.

"You're right, Pryce," she said aloud, once he had gone. "I have to do this." _For Blackthorn's sake_.

Sighing wearily, Clair pushed her chair back and made her way to the window, picking her way between piles of books and miscellaneous junk. She had never bothered to keep the little study tidy, seeing no point. Nobody ever came in except herself and Pryce. Situated in the building that had used to be the Blackthorn Gym – now the unofficial headquarters of the Blackthorn governing body – it was an out-of-the-way little room at the end of a long, boring corridor, behind a plain, unmarked door. The plush, bluish-purple carpet was barely visible beneath all of the paraphernalia strewn about the room.

The window, which normally caught the morning sun and sent it streaming across Clair's desk, was now dark and dull. Clair pressed a hand to the glass and peered upwards to the rapidly darkening sky. "Looks like rain again," she mumbled wearily. The glass was pleasantly cool, so clear rested her forehead against it for a few seconds. It was remarkably relaxing, but any small comfort was doomed not to last.

A strident beeping pierced the silence of the small room, coming from a small Dratini-shaped alarm clock on her desk. Knocking over a pile of forms in the process, Clair whacked it on the head to activate the sleep function. _09:55_, read the LCD screen set into its side. Right, she had a meeting in five minutes to discuss . . . something. She was sure it was important to somebody.

_Time to act like a President._ Drawing herself up to her full height and adjusting her cape, Clair fixed what she hoped was a relaxed, yet determined look on her face and pushed the door open.

***

When Clair entered the conference room two minutes later, Pryce stumbling slightly behind her, everybody seated around the large oval table stood respectfully and bowed their heads.

"Stop doing that," she snapped. "I'm a President, not a deity. Right, what's on the agenda for today?" She slid into a chair at the head of the table and glanced around her makeshift Cabinet. There was still no organisation, she reflected bitterly. Fifteen of the city's most influential or useful people – many of them members of the Dragon Clan – sitting in no particular order around a table. None of them had any particular job or position. There were no undersecretaries, no elected ministers, nothing, in fact, at all. There was no election system – the people Clair chose to help her were the ones she could trust to do so. _Is this what you'd call an oligarchy?_ she wondered. She wouldn't know, really. Politics was all so very confusing.

Until the Split, there had been no need for local politics. The rules came from the Indigo Plateau, or rather, the political department thereof. Most of Johto's people had been under the impression that the Elite Four had been running the country, but Clair knew that it was not so. Lance, Will, Koga, Karen and Bruno had just been figureheads. Sure, they had been powerful in their own right, but what sort of foolishness would it be to appoint a nation's leaders based on their skill at Pokémon battling? The Gym Leaders had been partially responsible for the enforcement of the law in their respective cities, but the police force had dealt with most of that.

Johto had, in fact, been a relatively quiet, peaceful nation. In the years leading up to the Split, its crime figures had been the lowest in recorded history. It had been a country where ten-year-old children could wander freely around the countryside with just a small Pokémon for protection.

Now, of course, there was no such opportunity. As Clair looked into each of the fifteen faces in front of her, she saw that each and every one of them was thinking the same thing. They knew that Johto was on a downhill slide to chaos. Clair took a deep breath, making up her mind.

"No," she said firmly. "No. Screw the agenda; we're doing this my way. Any objections?"

_A city needs a leader who can actually _lead_. A leader who is _strong. Pryce's words echoed in her head as she slammed her hands down on the table and pushed herself to her feet. Behind her, the old man himself nodded, satisfied, in his little chair in the corner.

"We've been going through this cycle of madness long enough. We can't just keep trying to stay neutral, avoiding confrontation, blah, blah, blah. We've been saying that for two years now, and it's got us nowhere."

_Blackthorn needs _you_, because you are the one person who will refuse to give in._

"Sure, we're not at war every other weekend like the rest of Johto, but all we're doing is delaying the inevitable. We can't go on like this! Surely you can see that! The whole of Johto is going to be destroyed, and we're going to go down with it!"

"What the heck are we supposed to do, then?" The speaker was Gideon Truman. At twenty-two years of age, he was the youngest person to be granted a seat on Clair's Cabinet, but none would deny that he had earned it. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with sharp-edged good looks, topped off with a mop of blond hair that fell across his face in a way that never failed to stir the hearts of most females he encountered, Gideon had an undeniable charisma, an air of relaxation that seemed to float around wherever he went. It was evident even now; while the other fourteen people around the table were sitting on the edge of their seats, hanging on to every word of Clair's radical pronouncement, Gideon was half-slumped in his chair, twirling a strand of hair around his index finger and regarding Clair lazily with his piercing green eyes.

"I don't know, exactly," Clair confessed, frowning at him. _Too laid-back_. It wasn't as if he didn't have his uses, of course. He was an excellent negotiator, and highly intelligent, but she personally couldn't stand him. She had been on the verge of firing him for several months, but something kept causing her to delay it. "What I do know is that we need to do something, and fast. I couldn't care less what happens to the rest of Johto, to be honest, but the problem is that if everything else self-destructs, there's a damn good chance that they'll drag us down with them."

"So . . . what, then?" Gideon leaned forward, casually tilting his head. "What do you want to do, Madam President?" His tone, although level and polite, carried a hint of mockery with it. "Should we, perhaps, undergo a mass exodus? Pack up the whole city and move it to . . . oh, I don't know, Sinnoh? Or are you going to go back on that non-interventionist policy of yours and declare war on everyone else? Dragonair mounted with cannons, perhaps?"

Clair glared at him, her face flushing red. "I'm suggesting nothing of the sort, and don't you know it, Truman! If you're going to be like that, you can take your sarcastic suggestions and shove them up your – no!" Clair brought herself up short. "What I mean is that I'd like you to make helpful contributions to the discussion, or else shut up. Alright?"

Gideon smirked. "Chill, Prez. You need to wind it down a little. No, don't worry, I got it. I'll stay in my place from now on. Just tell me one thing, if you please. Do please tell me you're not going to renege on your promise to say neutral? I always admired how . . . _vehemently_ you argued for that." Clair felt a shudder run down her spine at Gideon's words. They were almost the same as Pryce's just minutes earlier.

"No," she said, quietly but firmly, looking down at the table. "There is no way in hell that's happening."

"That's good to hear. But then, my earlier question still remains? What do you suggest we do? Our options as I see them are severely limited."

"You're right," Clair admitted. "We don't have much room to manoeuvre here. But listen to me, people. We have to do _something_, because if _we_ don't, nobody will! Blackthorn is the city that has had the strength to stand strong and alone for the last two years, and Blackthorn has to be the city to stand up and say that enough is enough! We have to be the ones to end it! We are the final barrier, the only thing standing between Johto and total destruction!" There was a deafening silence around the table at this point. Even Gideon was nodding thoughtfully. The only sound came from the regular ticking of the small clock on the wall.

Eventually, Clair's ear caught a slight scraping from behind her. She turned to see Pryce getting to his feet, using his cane as a lever to haul himself from his chair. He was getting older, she thought. Before long, she would have to put him in a wheelchair. Not that he'd ever admit to it, of course, but the erstwhile Gym Leader of Mahogany was not as agile as he had once been.

"You have something to say, old man?" Gideon asked lazily. He had produced a cigarette from somewhere and slotted it into the corner of his mouth. It remained unlit, however, due to a less-than-polite request Clair had made a few months previously regarding smoking indoors.

"Yes, I do." Pryce made his way around the table to the vacant chair at the end opposite Clair. It was rightfully his, as the sixteenth Cabinet member, but he had for some reason always chosen to sit apart from his colleagues, quietly observing. He lowered himself into the chair, wobbling slightly. Every eye in the room was fixed on him. He took a deep, quavering breath.

"Clair," he said slowly, solemnly. "I do believe the time has come. I have been waiting two years for you to step up to the plate like this. I am slightly ashamed to confess I was beginning to doubt you had the conviction to make a stand, and had to give you a gentle prod in the right direction. However, the decision whether to act on my advice or not was yours to make, and yours alone. I'm glad you made the right choice."

"You're speaking in riddles, old man," Gideon grinned. "What's this 'the time has come' stuff?"

"What I mean, Mr Truman, is that the time has come for me to reveal the truth about why the Split happened. The story that was spread around was a vague one. Two Gym Leaders had a spat, perhaps. Or maybe the Pokémon League was getting a bit too big for its boots. Then again, it was suggested that maybe subtle threats were made by a person or persons unknown to make the cities divide like this." Heads were nodding all around the table, each of the present company having heard one or more of these stories at some point in time. Pryce rapped his cane sharply on the linoleum floor for attention.

"Let me tell you now, there is no truth whatsoever to any of these stories. To understand why the Split really happened, we must first look into the mind of a certain individual – that of Lance Dragonchild, the former Champion of the now-defunct Pokémon League."

"Lance! What does he have to do with the Split?" Clair demanded, her mind suddenly racing as fast as her heart. She hadn't seen or heard from her cousin since before the Split, it was true, but . . . Was it possible that Pryce was suggesting Lance had something to do with orchestrating the Split? No, she was jumping to conclusions. Still, she had to be sure.

"Oh, Lance has _everything_ to do with the Split," Pryce said darkly, "and I was right there in the thick of everything. Just a year before the Split happened, in Mahogany, there was a group of criminals operating under the moniker of Team Rocket."

"I remember that lot," Gideon put in. "They were using a radio broadcast to force Pokémon evolution in the Lake of Rage, right?"

"That's right," agreed Pryce, "but Lance and a young friend of his managed to put a stop to their plans and disband the organisation. It seemed that all was well for a little while.

"Soon, however, Lance became somehow . . . different. He came back to Mahogany many times, with the excuse that he needed to look into Team Rocket's affairs further. I became a little wary of him. Of course I would. Why would he need to investigate a broken organisation like the Rockets? In any case, I followed him on one of these visits. I found him in the old Rocket hideout, tinkering with the radio transmitter that those villains had been using to affect the wild Pokémon. I pressured him a little bit, and he admitted that, morbidly fascinated by what the Rockets had managed to achieve, he had begun experimenting with different radio frequencies to affect the minds of Pokémon and people."

"That . . . kind of does sound like Lance," Clair mused. "He was always so curious. But I can't see where you're heading with this. Lance would never do anything like causing the Split!"

Pryce shook his head sadly. "That's where you're wrong, child. Lance was a great man, to be sure. A great Champion, and a good, honest soul. But even the most pure of hearts can be corrupted, and this research of Lance's was turning him . . . well, I wouldn't say it was turning him bad. He just became more and more curious, is all. He wanted to see what would happen if he did this, or that. After I confronted him, he stopped coming back to Mahogany. I didn't see any trace of him for months, until one cold day in February.

"A messenger arrived at my Gym with a dispatch from Lance for every Gym Leader in the Johto region. It summoned me to a special meeting for all Gym Leaders at the Indigo Plateau. My suspicions instantly aroused, I told the messenger that I would go, and that I would go to Blackthorn to tell you in his place. He went home, and I went to the Indigo Plateau alone. I didn't know what Lance was planning, but I knew it couldn't be anything good, and I didn't want you to get involved, knowing the level of attachment you have to your cousin."

Clair realised that she had been holding her breath, and let it out sharply. "So then . . . what?" She found herself unable to move, unable to do anything but listen to Pryce as he told his tale. The Cabinet seemed to be having the same reaction. Even Gideon was chewing nervously at the end of his cigarette.

"I arrived at the meeting, and just as I expected, everyone else was there – Whitney, Falkner, Chuck, Morty, Jasmine and Bugsy – and nobody knew what was going on. Lance appeared and told us of his vision for a new Johto. He was clearly mad, totally delusional, and what he was saying made no logical sense. It didn't matter, though. What did matter was that he locked the seven of us in a room and turned on a special radio signal. To this day, I can only guess how it worked, but it seemed to be suggesting that we go along with Lance's crazy plan.

"For one reason or another, though, it had no effect on me. Perhaps it was because I already suspected what he was up to. Perhaps it was because I'm old and a little deaf, or perhaps it was just because I've spent all my life training my mind to be as sharp as broken ice. In any case, the other six were totally under his spell. He was laughing crazily– something inside him had clearly snapped. I pretended to go along with it. He issued orders for the Gym Leaders to go back to their home cities, seize control, and tear Johto to shreds by any means necessary."

"No!" Clair protested. "That's not right! Lance would never do a thing like that! What the hell are you saying, Pryce? That doesn't sound like Lance in the slightest!" She felt the first burning touch of anger in the pit of her stomach. How could Pryce accuse Lance of doing something like orchestrating the Split?

"I thought so too. I didn't want to believe it, you know. You have to believe me when I say I was always fond of Lance. I admired his strength and determination, but . . . the man I saw that day two years ago was Lance, but . . . not Lance, at the same time."

"You're still talking in riddles, old man!" growled Gideon, grinding his teeth agitatedly. "Look, I only ever met this Lance fellow once or twice, but from that, and from what I've heard from people who know him better, I know he wouldn't act like that."

Clair blinked, taken aback for a moment by the unexpected backup. "He's right, Pryce. Please . . . Please tell me it isn't true!" she begged, suddenly knowing beyond all doubt that it was.

"I know it's far-fetched," Pryce conceded, "but you must believe me when I tell you that everything I say is the truth. I know it sounds like something out of a science-fiction movie – radio waves manipulating human minds, a good man driven crazy by . . . what? Lust for power? I'm sorry, Clair. I don't really know why it happened, but I know it did." Slowly, he pulled himself from his chair and made his way out of the room.

Once he had left, every head in the room silently swivelled towards Clair. She was breathing hard, and her eyes were a little wild.

_No! No, it can't be! Not Lance! He would never . . . never!_

Numb with shock, Clair Dragonchild fell back in her chair, buried her face in her hands, and fought back the tears that were threatening to break loose.


	2. Dragon's Fall

Chapter Two is now posted, Chapter Three complete.

**

* * *

Chapter Two: Dragon's Fall**

Clair became painfully aware that the undivided attention of everyone in the room was fixed entirely on her.

_No. No, no, no, no! _The word echoed in her head, over and over again, like the tolling of a funeral bell. _Not Lance, not him! He would never do that! Never! Not Lance! _Clair found herself incapable of escaping from the vicious cycle of her own thoughts. She pressed her hands to the sides of her head, hard, and bit her lip, but Pryce's revelations invaded her mind and strangled her protests like creeping vines.

_- can't take it any more –_

- Distressed, Clair stood up sharply and swept from the room, knocking her chair over in the process. She strode through her old Gym with great speed, blindly pushing open doors and stumbling down staircases. Hot tears pricked at her eyes, burning as they begged to fall -

_- all of a sudden, why –_

- She had to keep it together, appear composed. This wasn't like her – not in the slightest. Weakness, emotional insecurity was an unforgivable flaw in a leader. Tears were for behind closed doors, yet she'd just made a fool out of herself in front of her entire Cabinet, throwing a tantrum like some child –

_- I shouldn't be overreacting like this, I don't even know if it's true, oh please, please let it not be true –_

- Clair wished she knew where she was going, what she was doing, anything, anybody, something, _someone_ –

_- even if it is true, I shouldn't get so messed up so fast. He's my cousin, and I worry about him, but even so . . . why am I so upset about this? It's not –_

- She didn't even know where she was anymore. The Gym's corridors were all starting to look the same, beginning to blend into a whirl of fluorescent lights and whitewashed walls. Bright colours turned to grey, and suddenly it was not walls rushing at her face but the floor –

- _what's happening where am I what's going on –_

- There were voices, footsteps, shouts and whispers, tears running down someone's face, her face, flowing unchecked –

_- why is everybody making such a fuss –_

- The light was gone, gone, nobody was speaking anymore, and Clair let herself relax . . .

***

"_Hey, little cuz," Lance said, reaching out to take her hand. His normally solemn face was lit up by his smile, a cheeky grin that she hadn't seen for years. Clair's breath caught in her throat as she leapt forward to embrace him._

"_I'm older than you, you know," she admonished him, tapping him on the nose. Then, suddenly, she remembered. She sat back on the crisp white bed she found herself in and regarded him critically._

_He was still the Lance she used to know, that was for sure. His shocking red hair was just as messy and spiky as always, and he was wearing his black and gold Champion's costume, complete with cape._

"_I know that," he said, chuckling easily. Had Lance ever been this relaxed?_

"_Th-they were saying horrible things about you!" she blurted out all of a sudden. "You wouldn't do anything like causing the Split, would you?"_

_Lance seemed to be taken aback. For a split second, a twist of what looked like anger contorted his face, but the next split second, the impression had passed, and Clair wasn't sure if she had even seen it. "Of course I wouldn't! How could I ever do a thing like that?"_

_Clair felt as if her heart had been freed of a huge weight. Of course Lance wouldn't be that way. He wasn't like that. He chuckled and ruffled her hair fondly._

"_It's always like I'm the bigger cousin, isn't it? You act so tough for everyone to see, but you're not really that strong at all, are you? You don't need to push yourself so hard, Clair. All you're doing is wearing yourself out for the sake of your reputation. Just relax every now and again."_

_Clair smiled. She felt like she was floating. "Only when you're around, Lance." It was the truth. Lance was like a healing balm; he had an immediate soothing effect on her. "I'm glad you're innocent . . ." she murmured as she felt herself drifting away again. "I'll tell Pryce when I get back . . ."_

_Lance's face, beginning to blur against the wall behind him, grew suddenly grave. "Clair . . ." he said. "Clair . . ." _

"_Clair . . ."_

***

"-air! Clair!"

"Lance?" Clair mumbled sleepily, forcing her eyes open. A familiar face floated over her, indistinct and distant. "Izzat you?"

"Wake up, Clair." She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. It wasn't Lance after all. Just Pryce, leaning anxiously over her. The room that she could see behind him was ascetic and white, nearly empty save for a few small machines on a desk in the corner and a lonely-looking calendar on the wall opposite. The ceiling was empty save for a slowly rotating fan.

"Where the bloody hell am I?" she demanded, forcing herself upright, pushing aside the voluminous white sheets that she found blocking her way.

"The medical bay," said Pryce, gesturing around the room. "I had them bring you here after you passed out."

"The medical bay?" Clair snorted. "I don't need any stupid medical bay!" Rapidly, she swung her legs off the bed and stood up. "See?"

Pryce shook his head. "Ah, well. That's the Clair I know. You've been awake all of fifteen seconds and you're on your feet again. There'll be no chance of getting you back in that bed, I suppose?"

"Like hell there will. Where did those jokers put my boots?" she wondered irritably, noticing that she was barefoot, though the rest of her clothes – the Gym Leader outfit she'd taken to wearing again lately – were mercifully still present, sans the cape, which she'd left in her room. Pryce sighed and pointed. Clair followed his outstretched hand and located the calf-height blue boots with their black rings, sitting neatly at the foot of her bed. She grinned and tugged them on while Pryce observed her silently.

_I know what you're thinking, Pryce. I never could read you, but in this situation, anyone could guess. It's not hard. You're wondering what happened to me. Wondering what happened to the Clair that ran around the Gym like a madwoman before passing out in tears. Wondering why I'm not reacting now._

"I'm not going to do that again," she promised aloud.

"Do what?" Pryce asked calmly.

"C-cry like that." It made her flush a little and stumble over her words to even say it out loud. "I don't know what came over me this morning, but I'm alright now. I've given up on being the sick, ineffectual President I was turning into. I'm going to be the Gym Leader I once was. I tried to do that this morning, but I couldn't hold it. This time, I will. I'm ashamed of how I acted, and I apologise."

Pryce nodded. "I'm glad to hear that. Now you're starting to sound like the Clair I used to know. Does this mean you're going to try and work out what Lance is up to and put a stop to it?" There was no reply for a moment. Clair sat on the edge of the bed, her blue hair highlighted by the harsh, fluorescent lights set into the ceiling, her head bowed. "Clair?" Pryce ventured, a little uncertainly.

". . . wouldn't . . ." she said quietly, still looking down. Pryce's eyes narrowed curiously.

"I'm sorry?"

"Lance is not behind this," Clair said, a little louder. "He's incapable of doing something so horrible. Why would Lance want to start a civil war in Johto? It doesn't even make any sense. And besides . . ."

"Besides what?" asked Pryce. He seemed to be getting a little frustrated, she thought, even though she knew he would refuse to show it.

"Besides . . ." _He told me so_, she said to herself. "Never mind," she said, aloud. "All I'm saying is that I believe in my cousin. Is that so wrong?"

"It's not wrong to believe in him, no, but this is taking things a little too far. I saw with my own eyes what he did, and I know there was something horribly wrong with him."

"You can't prove that," she challenged.

"Perhaps I should have just let you go along to this special meeting of his and let yourself be manipulated, then," he sighed. "Listen, Clair. Blackthorn needs – no, _Johto_ needs you to fix things. Nobody else can do this. The other Gym Leaders were the only ones with the strength to stand up to Lance, and they're all under his power. I'd do it myself, but I'm getting too old to do this sort of thing by myself. It has to be you, Clair!"

"I'm going to do everything I can," Clair said firmly, "to prove that Lance is innocent! I know you have no reason to lie to me, Pryce, but I really don't want to believe you this time."

Pryce sighed again. "So be it. I can see that you will not be swayed like this. Either way, however, our first priority from now on should be locating Lance."

"I'll agree with you on that one." Clair nodded in acquiescence and strode from the room.

_It's not true_, she thought once again. _It can't be true._ But unlike before, there was no panic. Earlier, she had reacted rashly and gone way over the top, and she knew it. Now there was no frantic denial, only a calm, rational resolution.

_I'll clear your name, Lance._

***

Clearing Lance's name, however, turned out to be harder than it sounded.

Clair stood before her Cabinet, chin up and back straight. "I must apologise for my earlier behaviour," she said. "Now, though, in the light of the new . . . information provided this morning, we have an important issue to cover. Before we get into any details, let me ask this right off the bat: does anyone have any clue whatsoever regarding the whereabouts of Lance Dragonchild?"

Clair glared around the table, her faint hope extinguished as the assembly shook their heads. "No? Nobody? Then I suggest you focus all of your attention on locating him! This is officially your top priority from now on. Whether or not what was said before is true, I do believe he was involved somehow with the Split, and it is true that he has not been seen since a few months before it." She scanned the table again. Silence. Only a round of quiet nods confirmed that anyone was listening. "Good." She pulled her chair forward and sat down, glancing across the table at the lanky blonde.

"Truman."

"Yes? What is it?" he yawned.

"What's the normal agenda for today? Who's at war this week?"

"Goldenrod and Azalea, Prez." Clair ignored the jab.

"I wasn't being serious, Truman? What's going on? I rely on you to keep me informed."

Gideon stretched luxuriously. "No joke, hon. Old Bugsy did something to get up Miss Whitney's nose, and now he's under siege."

Clair sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "What's up with that? Bugsy and Whitney always got on so well, and now . . . this?"

"Don't be so naïve, Prez," Gideon warned. "It's been like this for two years now. Don't tell me you've just realised now that everyone's acting funny."

"Almost makes you wonder if there's something wrong with their heads," Pryce said quietly from his seat in the corner. Clair froze, turning to glare at him.

"I've told you already, Pryce," she said, fighting the urge to throw something at him, "there is no way your crazy story has any truth to it!"

"With all due respect, Prez . . ." Gideon said. "The old man's story actually fits, you know." Clair whipped her head around to glare at him instead.

"The nerve of you people," she muttered, standing up and kicking her chair aside. "Alright, that's it! Today's meeting is officially cancelled. Spend the rest of the day looking into any sightings of my cousin in the last two years. Fetch me immediately if you find anything."

_This is just like how I used to be,_ she realised as she kicked the door shut behind her. _Something goes wrong, and straightaway I snap at someone and storm off. At least I'm not going to fall to pieces this time. I'm done with that._

Clair stopped in the middle of a corridor. People skirted her as they went about their business, not daring to bump or jostle her. What was she going to do now? Her Cabinet members would by now be trawling through databases, searching for sightings of Lance. Well, Gideon Truman would, at least. Although he was a pretentious ass, she knew he would be doing what she told him. The others were meek and silent, but probably wouldn't have any luck with their searches, if they even bothered to begin. They were all useless. Truman rarely contributed anything useful, but at least he contributed _something_. She might as well have appointed fourteen carrots to the Cabinet, and it would have made no discernible difference.

_So what do _I_ do? _The sensible thing, of course, would be to start her own search, but she had no idea where to begin. She felt drained by the day's events, and berated herself for it. _You're tougher than this, Clair. Harden up._ But the more she worried at her subconscious, the further it seemed to expand, until all that was left in her mind was the need for sleep.

Clair glanced at a clock on a nearby wall. It was only four-thirty, but the hell with that. Slipping down a side corridor, she made her way out of the building.

Blackthorn was, as she had predicted, drenched. The rain was falling thick and fast, and apparently had been for quite some time. The footpaths were slippery and the gutters were running full with black water. The sky was coal black, despite the early hour, thanks to the heavy, bulky thunderclouds that stretched from horizon to horizon. As she stood under the eaves, a crack of thunder rumbled across the sky like a freight train, bringing with it a flash of lightning.

Clair briefly considered calling a taxi, but decided against it. She didn't terribly want to talk to anybody right at that moment, so she set off at a brisk walk for the outskirts of the city.

In the peaceful days of Gym challengers and Badges, Clair had lived in a little house right next to the Gym and the Dragon's Den so that she could be on hand whenever she was needed. Now, however, she opted for a larger property as far away from the Gym as possible. It was inconvenient, for sure, but it was helpful for escaping from her job, even just for a little while.

As Clair strode through the streets of Blackthorn, the city became noticeably less urbanised. Of course, even in the very centre of town, Blackthorn was a very low-rise, traditionalist city, but out here, the city seemed to blend into nature. Houses were hidden from view behind stands of trees that were whipping around in the wind. A few brave (or Water-type) Pokémon were playing in the streets, streets which seemed to alternate randomly between tar seal, gravel and dirt; or rather, mud.

By the time Clair reached her house, she was soaking wet and her boots were splattered with mud. Feeling slightly pissed off, she fumbled in her pocket for the key as she stood shivering on the porch, but before she could find it, something small, blue and ridiculously fast cannoned into her midriff with enough force to nearly knock her off her feet. Clair laughed as her Dratini wound its way around her body and up onto her shoulder, squeezing her head affectionately with its tail and squealing happily, its enormous brown eyes shining with joy. Clair scratched its head fondly with one hand as she opened the door with the other. Dratini shot ahead, glad to be out of the rain.

"How did you manage to get stuck outside?" she asked it, shaking her head as she followed it into the living room. Two Dragonair were coiled up on the couches in front of the fireplace she'd left burning for them that morning. They greeted Clair sleepily when she came in, but seemed unable to keep their eyes open for very long. "I know how you guys feel," she said, yawning, and went to run a hot bath.

While the tub slowly filled with steaming water, Clair fetched two more Poké Balls from the nightstand in her room and, crossing to the window, released their inhabitants outside. Beneath the window was a small lake, part of a wide river that ran the entire length of Johto. She'd had a small part of it diverted through her back yard for the Gyarados and Kingdra that were now happily racing around in the water. They didn't seem bothered by the rapidly worsening storm, so she let them be for a while.

After soaking in the bath until the water got cold, Clair tried to go to bed. Somehow, though, she couldn't quite manage to. Instead, she wandered around the house, preoccupied, setting everything in order. Dirty dishes from that morning were slotted into the dishwasher. Her wet clothes from earlier were tossed into the washing machine. Piles of magazines were neatly stacked in a corner. All five of her Pokémon were recalled and the Poké Balls placed carefully in a drawer. It was therapeutic for a short while, but she could not avoid the question forever.

_What am I going to do?_ Sighing, Clair crawled into bed and buried her face in her pillow. For a few minutes she simply concentrated on keeping her breathing slow and even in the hope that it would help her get to sleep, but to no avail. Annoyed, she tossed the pillow across the room and kicked the sheets off, sitting up and swinging her legs off the bed and onto the floor. Why couldn't she sleep? She was so tired – exhausted even – but something prevented her from finding the rest she so dearly desired.

_Lance . . . it is true that I haven't seen you since before the Split, but that doesn't mean anything, right?_

_But then, if you weren't up to something, where did you go? _The official statement from the Indigo Plateau had said that the Elite Four and the Champion were moving overseas to avoid getting caught up in the conflict, and Clair had never really found any reason to doubt that, but as time wore on, she had found herself wondering more and more why her cousin never even called.

_Can it be, then, that you actually_ did _have something to do with the Split? Are you even alive? Knowing you, you probably tried to stop it and got yourself in trouble._ That would be it. Lance definitely had _something _to do with the Split, but there was no way he could have caused it. Pryce must have been lying. Why would he do that? He was one of her most trusted friends; he should have no reason to lie to her.

_But he did. _Whether she wanted to believe it or not, Pryce had lied. For whatever reason, he had fed her a fabrication that he knew would rattle her and it seriously pissed her off.

"I should go look for him myself," Clair said aloud, snorting. "It'd do more good than sitting around here."

With that intriguing notion floating in her mind, Clair retrieved her pillow from where it had fallen, against the opposite wall, straightened the bedclothes as best she could, and finally managed to drift off to sleep.

***

_The dragon tamer's red hair, no longer perky and sharp, fell, lank and greasy, around his harrowed face like a tattered curtain. There was fire in his eyes, a terrible, consuming, burning fire that threatened to engulf him. As if to defy the flames of agony, though, tears were streaming down his cheeks, rivulets of salty water that flowed without restriction. His mouth was opening and closing helplessly as he shook his head uncomprehendingly._

"_No, no, no . . ." he mumbled, nearly incoherent. Horror showed on every inch of his face; pure, unadulterated agony brought about by the sight that met his eyes. "What have I . . . _done_? No!"_

_The acrid, choking scent of smoke hung in the air. "Help me . . ." Lance whispered, "please . . ."_


End file.
